Twist-Tie

I couldn't sleep last night, probably because of the way I kept dozing off at work. I stayed up till five, reading LiveJournals and searching Google for things like "everybody hates me" and "my boyfriend cheated on me via AOL Instant Messenger." I found a shop selling stuffed animals with satin vaginas, an argument about whether it's "without further ado" or "without further adieu," and a shrine to a girl named Mandy. Later, wrestling with the couch cushions, I folded my left pointerfingernail back on itself. I made a skreeky "ewwwwww!" noise (I can't think of many feelings more disgusting than that of a folded-back nail), and the birds all woke up.

This morning, I slept in past noon, and didn't start writing till quarter to two. I wrote fifteen hundred novelwords instead of two thousand, same as yesterday. It took a little over six hours (which was better than yesterday, when it took nearly the full eight).

Oh. I forgot to mention something about last night: while I was looking for stupid stuff on the Internet, I found a twist-tie. An actual twist-tie, that is, not an Internet twist-tie. It was in my coat pocket. I took it out and started twisting it around my fingers. After several hours of this, the wire broke, about an inch and a half from the end. It was a little disappointing. It reminded me of a gold bangle I once had, which also broke while I was playing with it. I thought I fixed that bangle, but I was wrong. It fell off the next day, somewhere between Metrotown and Granville Island.

I'm too tired. I can't finish my eight hours, today. I'm off back to bed.